


Smoke and Ash

by Corpium



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Frank Castle character study, Frank does not rape her omg no, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 12:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6753184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corpium/pseuds/Corpium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank saves a child trafficking victim. She expects him to kill her.<br/> <br/> ______________________________<br/>For the kink meme prompt:  <em> "So, we all know our murderous marshmallow has a code, but the press coverage of the punisher' crimes must have been pretty scary.</em><br/> <br/><em>I'm after anything where frank's scary reputation makes someone innocent (one of the cast, random civilian, etc) think he's going to hurt them, and being surprised by his kindness and protectiveness instead."</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke and Ash

**Author's Note:**

> This has been described as "dark as hell" sooo consider yourself warned.

Cleo keeps her mouth shut while Gray shows her off, moans while the clients take their money’s worth from her, and thanks Gray for the roof over her head when they’re done. She takes it and takes it and takes it, and when Gray and his crew sleep overhead on the main floor, she pulls her ratty mattress off the bed frame, cracks off one of the supporting planks, and whittles it into a stake. 

She’ll turn fourteen in two days, and for the first time since Gray saved her from the streets she’s going to celebrate. 

Only that’s not what happens. 

The day before she turns fourteen, the front door, situated directly above her, slams open, and heavy, slow footsteps * _thud thud*_ into the living room. Muffled, aborted shouts from Gray’s crew reach her, and then the * _pop pop pop_ * of handguns. Cleo scrambles for her stake under the mattress and clutches it to her chest. * _Dakka dakka dakka_ * -- rapid fire, something she’s never heard before, something new. 

An explosion rocks the house and the basement door crashes open, and dust falls from the shuddering ceiling. Cleo hides behind the musty armchair in the corner, splinters from the stake cutting into her skinny, shaking hands. She watches the warm light of flames dance across the concrete walls of the staircase, and she wrinkles her nose at the smell of burnt wood and flesh. She’s smelled worse.

A body falls through the door and knocks against the wall -- Gray, face bloody, with a bloody leg and a phone to his ear. He stumbles down the stairs, limping. “--the fuckin’ Punisher man, you gotta get the hell over here -- yeah, I will, I will, gotta get the girl first. No -- I don’t give a shit what you think; she matters to me.” He snaps the burner phone shut and scans the dingy basement, worry lines deeper than usual. Cleo ducks behind the chair, and someone screams overhead. She recognizes the owner of that voice. He doesn’t sound that way when he comes. She almost smiles.

“Sweetheart, Cleo, we gotta go,” Gray says, coaxing and gentle, like he sounded when they first met. Flames crackle overhead, and more rapid-fire hurts Cleo’s ears. There’s too much sound -- she can’t locate Gray in the room, and she’s too afraid to look. 

“Baby, come on.” His voice gets closer. “I know it sounds scary up there, but I promise I’ll keep you safe, okay?”

Safe. 

I’ll keep you safe. 

Safe. Safe. Safe safe safe safe safe. Safe means a roof over your head and food to eat. Safe means pain and stretching too wide and can’t-breathe-can’t-breathe-please-let-me-breathe and hot tobacco breath in her face and hands on her throat. Safe means apologizing when she’s too tired to perform well; safe means you-can-do-it-baby-just-a-little-more. Safe means tears and numbness and soothing hugs from Gray after the client’s left. Safe means earning your keep. 

“There you are,” Gray says, limping around the chair, and Cleo turns fourteen tomorrow but she feels like she’s turning a hundred, like she’s withering. “Come on, baby girl.”

He pets her dry, too long hair with bloody hands, and he reaches for her arm. “What have you got there?” he asks, and he sounds so kind and more people scream and she’s not safe but Gray’s supposed to be safe--

He reaches for the stake. He’s going to take it away.

She jams it into the bleeding thigh of his injured leg. “What the--?” He grunts, face twisting into a snarl, and flames roar above them and the men stop screaming and he’s never going to touch her again even if it means they both burn to ashes in this tomb of a basement. 

She stabs him in the throat, and she’s not strong enough to pull the stake out. He scrabbles at it, eyes wide and bulging, and Cleo backs away, numb. 

She watches him as he crumples to his knees. She watches as he gurgles around the stake like a mouth around a cock. This time he’s the one who has to take it. 

The ceiling creaks, and the light of the flames grows brighter. 

She stares at Gray. 

She stares at the body. 

Footsteps thud-thud down the rickety staircase, and Cleo’s back hits the wall. There’s nowhere to run from the man with the skull on his chest.

The Punisher. She’s heard about him from the news when Gray’s allowed her on the main floor. She’s heard Gray’s men whisper and warn each other about him. He’s smaller than she imagined. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, and his voice isn’t as low as she expected. Blood drips down his face from a gash above his right eyebrow. 

The concrete of the wall scrapes against her back. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry.” She sniffs, but she doesn’t cry. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he says, coming closer, and she slides away from him.

“I’m so sorry.” Her voice wobbles, and her eyes burn and itch. She’s not going to cry. She won’t. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she says in a rush, even though she knows it won’t make a difference.

He keeps coming closer, eyes flicking up at the ceiling when it groans. He holds his hands up, palms facing out, voice rough and even, careful, “I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

She only half-hears him. “I’m sorry--” Her back hits the corner, and tears spill. She clutches her hands to her chest, making herself small, keeping her head down so it’ll hurt less. “I’m--” she hiccups. “I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want--”

He crouches down in front of her, and she stops. 

“Hey, hey, kiddo, you’re gonna be okay. The only thing I’m gonna do is get you out of this house, and then we’ll find you somewhere safe--

“No!” She darts away, but he grabs her by the arm. “Let me go, let me go! You’re not taking me anywhere!” Her heart races and she has to get away. She has to get away. 

Something in the ceiling * _cracks_ *, and the Punisher’s hand tightens around her arm. She sobs. “Jesus Christ,” she hears him say, and the next thing she knows, he’s tossing her over his shoulder. She beats at him and squirms and claws at the peeling wallpaper while he thud-thuds through the burning house, and the smoke scratches her throat and stings her eyes.

The next thing she knows, he’s setting her down outside on the lawn. Sirens wail in the distance. He steps away from her but keeps a hand on her shoulder, grip firm enough to keep her from running away.

“I’m gonna make this fast, kid, and I’m gonna be blunt,” he says. His voice drops to a mumble, and it takes Cleo a second to figure out what he’s saying. “I ain’t a damn therapist.” He raises his voice again and holds up the stake. It wakes some small part of Cleo up. She doesn’t even remember him stopping to get it. “The cops are gonna ask about the body in the basement. You tell them it was me, got it?”

She blinks up at him, and he sighs and kneels down in front of her again. Flames engulf the house now, hot enough to warm her even from four bed-lengths away.

“Repeat after me,” he says, slow and steady. “The Punisher killed him.”

She blinks again. 

“Say it.”

Some part of her, the awake part, says, “The Punisher killed him.”

“And then he got me out.”

She doesn’t understand. “And then he got me out.”

“Again. All together now.”

She swallows. “The Punisher killed him, and then he got me out.” 

The Punisher claps her on the shoulder, and for the first time in years she doesn’t shrink away. “That a girl. Think you can remember that?” 

The Punisher killed him, and then he got her out. She wishes it had happened that way. Why couldn’t it have happened that way?

She nods, and the Punisher nods back. “Good luck, kid.”

The sirens get louder, and he pushes himself up and tosses the stake through a smashed window of the house, into the flames. Satisfied, he walks towards an old black car parked on the street, shoving his hands in his pockets like this is something normal for him.

“Wait!” says Cleo, body strangely cold despite the heat of the house.

He stops and looks back at her, firelight twisting across his face. 

“Why didn’t you kill me?” she asks. 

His jaw tightens. “I don’t kill kids.” Something in his face goes all soft and earnest, like Cleo’s old foster mom’s used to. “And nothin's your fault, you understand?”

She nods, but he shakes his head.

“No, I want you to say it. Whatever they made you do, whatever you did, it's not your fault, okay?”

She nods.

“Say it.”

“It's not….” The sirens grow louder, and, throat tight, she looks away from his stern, too earnest gaze, shaking her head. 

“Kid, come on. You say it, and then I leave.”

She swipes a hand darkened by ashes across her face. “It's not my fault,” she whispers. It feels like a lie. 

“You’re a good kid,” he says, like if he says it strongly enough it’ll be true. “You remember that.” And then he walks away.

She watches him until his car disappears around the corner, right before the first cop car arrives. 

“The Punisher killed him, and then he got me out," she tells them.

**Author's Note:**

> **Please leave a comment on your way out the door.**


End file.
